


ice queen that’s what you see

by nadia5803



Series: liaisons by nadia [8]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadia5803/pseuds/nadia5803
Summary: i wrote this to procrastinate sleeping i’ll make a better version eventually bc this is important to the plot, actually
Series: liaisons by nadia [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631752
Kudos: 1





	ice queen that’s what you see

It was around the same time that Arpad noticed the absence of Patryka beside him that she had found Pietro and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi,” she mumbled.

“Oh, hi!” Pietro turned, slipping his phone away with a grin. “God, sorry, I suck with these formal events. I’ve been texting Olesya the whole time, sitting in my little corner. Come sit with me?”

Patryka nodded, taking a seat next to Pietro at the otherwise empty table. The dark lighting of the room was offset by the glow of his phone, disappearing once again as he plopped it down. She twirled her champagne glass, silently ignoring a few of the judging eyes that wandered to their corner. Pietro didn’t seem to notice, patting his hands on his knees before beginning a conversation.

“How are you? Have you been well?” 

She nodded again, raising the glass to her lips and then realizing Arpad had disappeared from his seat.

Shit.

“I’m great as ever! Have you had a drink?” she asked, returning her gaze to Pietro’s bright smile.

“Oh, no, I’ve been off alcohol for a while now. Besides wine. And I’m quite sure they don’t have wine here, yes?” He rested his face in one hand, looking over the other tables with dim curiousity. “Oksana was with me before, but she’s run off with Mia, I think. Left her bag here, too,” he continued, holding up Oksana’s clutch with rolled eyes. “This is a rather dry formal. I suppose when you take Europe’s dullest and corral them in a dark room, that’s what happens, though.”

Patryka continued to nod, hoping her smile masked her nausea as she scanned the room for a sign of Arpad. Leaning her hand against his empty glass, she heard a shutter click in the distance, and closed her eyes. Pietro nudged her shoulder, and another shutter clicked. Patryka opened her eyes, submerged back in the dim purple light.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned. 

“I may have, uh, indulged myself a tad much. I’m alright, though, thank you.” Patryka straightened, directing her attention to him and batting her eyes. She moved to lift her glass again, and cleared her throat. “So, your bill on the newest Green resolution—“

Pietro groaned, sinking back in his chair. “Oh, Patryka, let’s not discuss politics. I’m exhausted. Anything going on with you, personally? Anything besides politics, Viségrad, Arpad, the like. Any happenings? News? Strange and unusual occurrances in your life, you know?” When she paused, Pietro snickered, tilting his glass and watching as the water moved. “There’s more to conversation than politics.”

Patryka flushed, smiling and clutching her rosary. “Oh, I know. I know. Well, I’m a very busy woman, Pietro, I don’t have time for many personal affairs.” She went quiet again and drew her finger over the crucifix. “Well, I did take a walk in the country the other day, by myself. Near Danzig.”

Pietro nodded, taking the last sip from his glass. “Tell me more.”

Resting her hands on the table, Patryka continued. “I think the pastures are beautiful. And, ah, the sunsets in the countryside. And, and, the stars, right? You understand. You must. Even in Warsaw, the city lights block out all that beauty. But when you’re all alone in the country, not a village around for miles, there are millions of stars. Millions.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder, shaking her head with a sigh. “I don’t understand the heavens all that well, though. I’m not a woman of science.”

He shrugged. “Not everything needs to be explained by science. I like the stars too, in the countryside. That way, you can see them better. It’s peaceful. I’m no man of science, but that’s enough for me.” His hand hovered over his phone, but he turned back to Patryka, finishing the last of her champagne before rising to her feet. “Leaving already?” he asked.

She shook her head and extended a hand. “Care for a dance?” 

Pietro had barely even noticed the classical rhythm of the music from his corner of the room. He shrugged, shoving his phone in his pocket before grabbing her hand and letting her guide him to the outskirts of the floor. “Do you know how to dance?” he asked.

“I know how to dance folk. And how to ballroom dance. Otherwise, no,” she replied, lowering her gaze as they linked arms. “We can sway, or whatever. It doesn’t matter. I just need to get my mind off...”

She trailed off as Pietro hummed to the tune, swaying to the slow tempo, eyes shut. She swayed back, mind hazy and her vision unfocused. Despite the eyes, the shutters, the nausea and the drunkenness numbing her senses, she was giddy. All smiles and grins as Pietro remained silent and unaware, rocking back and forth. So young, handsome, capable, and aware. Someone who understood the beauty of a night sky in the countryside, too. Not Arpad, no, he could never. She’d catch him dead before indulging a look at the night sky or showing a hint of romanticism. She giggled, and Pietro opened his eyes. “Something happen?”

Patryka shook her head, lips puckered in a faint smile. He chuckled and continued the lazy swaying, accompanied with the murmurs of the other attendants and swirling with the fuzzy drunkenness of her head. “Pietro...” she murmured, eyelids heavy. 

“Yes?” He perked up, raising his eyebrows and linking his fingers with hers.

“I must tell you something,” she started, a smile crossing her lips. “Something you must never tell!”

Pietro laughed nervously, unlinking their hands and continuing the sway. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now. You’ll probably regret it later.”

“Nonsense. Let’s go somewhere private, there’s too much noise here,” she insisted, reaching a hand towards his face.

He pushed her hand away, and she stepped back, confused. “I don’t think that’s the best idea right now. Why don’t we just sit back down?” Patryka didn’t respond for a moment, maintaining that deerlike look as Pietro unlinked their arms. “What?” he asked, starting back to the corner.

She grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards. “No, no, stay with me. He’s going to find me. Stay here,” she pleaded, rubbing her forehead with the back of a trembling hand.

Pietro went pale, and brushed her hand away from his yet again. “You seem faint. Maybe we should go.”

“I’m not faint,” she insisted. “I’m fine. Look, look at me, your perfect Catholic debutante, drunk and weak and faint. In the name of all things holy, Pietro, I’m fine. Just stay here with me.” A twinge of frustration entered her voice as she pulled him back yet again, this time with both hands.  _ Click _ .

“Patryka, stop it. If you want, I’ll escort you back to your room. We can leave through the back, nobody has to know,” he answered, suddenly becoming aware of the eyes on him. 

“No, let’s go back to yours, and...” She trailed off, before bursting into hysterical laughter. Pietro brushed her hands away. 

“It’s not funny anymore. You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m sober as a saint. Please, Pietro, just stay. Stay and we’ll go and see the stars later.”

“I can’t stay any longer.”

“Pietro—“

“I have a wife.” He lifted a hand and picked up the clutch he abandoned on the table. “I’m not comfortable with this. I think you’re a little too drunk right now, and it’s best if we leave.”

“Pietro?” He turned around to see Oksana, hair down and makeup smeared. “I came back for my clutch,” she said, shooting a look at Patryka.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Patryka mumbled, lifting her empty glass and taking a sip of nothing. “Lady Moldova here to save the day yet again,”

“Is she drunk?” Oksana asked incredulously as he shoved the clutch in her hands, embarrassed.

“No,” she answered. “I’m not. He just thinks I’m some whore from the country, pimping out every president I can see! Isn’t that right, ineligible bachelor from Kyiv? Just some unintelligent whore, fucking the entire European Union. Not just physically, politically, too!” Patryka lifted the wine glass up to his face, then slammed it on the table. “I can walk myself back. Have a good night.”

“Patryka, wait.” Pietro put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me walk you back. Please. Oksana, stay here? I’ll be back in a few.”

Patryka glanced around the room, making out a few judgemental faces through the blur of her vision. Pietro linked shoulders with her again, and as he pushed open the door to the hallway, she leaned into the ballroom, pointing her free forefinger out at the throngs of guests. “You’ll all pay someday.”

The door slammed shut and Pietro said nothing. Rather, his face turned another event of red, and they walked the rest of the way in silence, Patryka clutching her rosary.

Her apartment waited at the end of the hall on the second floor, reached after a short climb in the staircase. On the steps, just before they exited the stairwell, Patryka held out her arm. “Wait.”

Before Pietro could react, she grabbed his face and put his mouth to hers. He drew away. “Patryka, this isn’t the right way.”

She shook her head and pressed their lips together again. He leaned forward, kissed back, and instantly pulled away, hands lifted. “No. Not like this. I don’t want you.”

“You always have. You have no choice,” she replied, lipstick smeared across her cheek now, and mascara pooling underneath her eyes. 

“No, you made your choice. I love Olesya more than anything in this world. I don’t love you. I never will. Patryka, you will always be a dear friend to me, a sister, an ally, but you cannot have me. I don’t want you,” he repeated, his voice raised in hysteria. “What have I done?”

“Nothing, you’ve done nothing. Come, come with me. Let’s do this together.” She reached out her hand, leaning slack against the door.

Pietro buried his face in his hands and swallowed a lump in his throat. “I have to go now.”

“Pietro—“

“Please, let me go.” He said hoarsely, dragging his hands from his face. “And let’s never speak of this again.”

Patryka said nothing as his footsteps echoed back down the stairs, the door shutting behind him. She looked up at the rising rows of stairs and down at the concrete floor, and pressed her back into the cold metal of the door. 


End file.
